Not the First Renegade, Nor the Last
by Aurora Musis Amica
Summary: That Commander Shepard was saving people from the Collectors wasn't the only reason Admiral Hackett kept the Systems Alliance military off her back. They have a history, and he knows just how dangerous she could be - to him personally. ME2 and pre-game timelines.


Admiral Hackett stood in his office aboard Arcturus, staring out the window into the infinite darkness beyond. Hands clasped behind his back, giving the appearance of calm that he really did not feel. He watched Major Antella fidget through the reflection in the window, and let him stew for a while longer.

Had Shepard played them all for fools? She was more than capable of it. She was N7. She had nearly twenty hours of space combat experience, and many times that in space-walking and zero-G. Despite the tragic eyewitness report of the Normandy's pilot that stated she had been blown clear of the ship by an explosion, it was possible that she had...

Had what? Faked the attack? No. Shepard had been many things, but even the Butcher of Torfan wouldn't sacrifice an entire ship just to fake her own death. Not when she could have done it far simpler on any one of her ground missions. People died all the time to mercenaries and pirates, it was regrettable, but it did not cause a stir. It was a known danger of service. In comparison, all eyes had turned on the Normandy's destruction, fine-combing the event to glean all possible information from it. With that kind of attention, Occam's razor applied. As much as it could be said to apply to this entire situation.

"Sir." Major Antella was respectful, always, but there was an undercurrent of hostility. The man was career. Unless Hackett missed his mark, Antella wanted this very office someday. "I understand that bringing her in will not be easy, but my teams are well-trained. We can do it with a minimum amount of disturbance. She would not have time to alert anyone, and we would keep her in complete isolation to prevent any retaliation."

The irony was, perhaps, that the danger she posed to anyone sent to bring her in was far outstripped by the danger she presented to Hackett himself.

"No. My order stands."

"I see. If I may ask why, sir?"

Why indeed. There were two explanations. They were... related. Hackett launched into the official one,

"There's something you need to understand about Shepard, Major. Her personality profile does note her sometimes ruthless attitude, her propensity to get the job done regardless of the cost. That does make her dangerous, you are correct about that, but..." he sighed, "What I have learned, from personal experience, is that she only attacks when provoked. If we stay under her radar, she will ignore us. If we try to take her in, she will fight. If we leave her alone... well. My hope is she will return to us. Either when she needs a safe ground, or when her resources run out, whichever happens first."

"Hope, sir?"

"Not the thing you want to hear from the admiralty, I am aware." Hell, not the thing he wanted to be saying, either. But yes, he hoped Shepard would decide to come back to them. Because he sure as hell did not want to be the one to cause her to fight them. She could do far too much damage to the Alliance, her connections before dying had been more extensive than he suspected even she realised, and the secrets she held...

Well. All it would take was one good fan to send a lot of shit flying. She could play the political game. Not well – she was far too blunt for that. But they'd given her some quality media training by necessity after Torfan, then polished it for her N7 commission. She'd become skilled enough that she'd felt comfortable using reporters to further her agenda – to Hackett's great annoyance, since he'd been the one that had to smooth the ruffled feathers over.

There was no doubt in his mind that if this truly were Shepard, then she would be quite ready to defend her freedom using some very dirty methods. And unless he missed his mark, he was the most powerful person she could bring down with a few words – and the one who could give her exactly what she wanted.

No. Shepard was safe from the Alliance as long as Hackett had any say in the matter.

As Major Antella saluted and left, Hackett allowed himself to drift into memory.

There had been a mission to a distant colony world, whose name now escaped him, to infiltrate a mercenary group and locate, then terminate, their leader.

With her past connections to the underworld, Shepard had been the logical choice. It had been a Xanatos gambit on Hackett's part. She was to go in undercover, posing as a mercenary. Either they would not realise who she was, which would put her in the perfect position to strike when the operation came to a head. Or if they did discover who she was, a high-level agent going missing, presumed captured, was all the justification Hackett would need to send in a platoon.

He'd heard nothing for three weeks. Had been about to send in said platoon, consequences be damned. Then suddenly there had been a message from her drop-box requesting a private meeting. The tone had made him pay attention, and he'd hauled ass all the way from Arcturus to see her. They'd met at a hotel in town, she'd stayed undercover, posing as a prostitute. He'd thought it seemed too natural for her.

"I've impressed them. They're almost willing to take me to meet the Piranha." The leader of the mercenaries. The head of the operation. The one whose conscience was stained by the lives of over a hundred men, women and children, and no doubt more to come. "It would be the perfect opportunity to make the kill, if I can get there."

"Then that's what I want you to do," he'd said, but there had been a snag.

"They want me to prove my loyalty. I've been told to plant a bomb at the city hall, and to make it look like a terrorist attack."

"Who're they trying to frame?"

She'd shaken her head, looking rueful. "They're not. That's why I wanted to see you in person, sir. I think Piranha isn't just a mercenary leader, but boss of the Syndicate."

Hackett remembered having had to sit down. That had been big. The chance to strike a blow at the center of a mafia plaguing the outer colonies.

"I see. Proceed with the mission, Lieutenant."

He remembered how she'd crossed her arms protectively and just looked at him. "They're giving me the explosives. I wouldn't be planting a harmless bomb."

"Understood."

Shepard had knelt in front of him where he sat, a torn expression on her face. "Sir, maybe I didn't make myself clear, they want me to set off a bomb in the center of town."

He remembered the coldness he'd forced into his heart. It had been easier then, he'd been an Admiral, she'd been a loyal subordinate, only a Lieutenant. "I know. But this is too important. Piranha has cost us a lot of good lives, and done a lot of damage to our expansion efforts. And if you're right about the Syndicate, this is our chance to make sure another colony is not going to be sold to slavers wholesale." He remembered how he'd hardened his voice and fixed her with a stare, daring her to object. "Are you going to be able to do this, Shepard?"

"Oh, I'll go plant the bomb for you, sir," she'd said, leaning right into his personal space. "But I want you to look me in the eyes and make it an order."

So he had, and he'd thrown in a kiss to seal the deal since he was damned anyway.

There had been civilian casualties, as he had known there would be. What he had not realised at the time, but felt in hindsight should have been blindingly obvious, was how much the Butcher of Torfan had cared.

A few days later, she had sent him a private, high security message with an image of her gun against the now very dead Piranha's head, and in the background the corpses of several known Syndicate members. She'd taken out their entire headquarters all by herself.

He hadn't been surprised.

The records had been partially classified after that, some at his own request to protect Shepard, some coming down from the Fleet HQ. Hackett suspected some members of the intel division had a fairly good idea of what had happened, but if they did, nobody approached him about it.

He rubbed his eyes, then walked over to the terminal where the vid of Shepard on Omega was still up. It made him think of a lion striding on the savannah, calmly seeking its prey.

He turned it off, then sat down and pulled up the navigation charts for the Omega region, Alchera in particular, and began to compose a message to her. Maybe he could remind her whose side she belonged to, and help her ultimate decision along.

And just maybe, let her know he could still have her back.


End file.
